


Pictures of Egypt

by Ameiko



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christianity, Gen, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameiko/pseuds/Ameiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern day AU. Gale comes home from college expecting to win the love of his childhood best friend, but when tragedy strikes, he needs to make some very tough choices about what he wants from his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note—In memory of Robert. A pastor, friend, and father who was taken too soon.

 

 

 

 

Pictures of Egypt

Part 1

 

“ _I’ve been painting pictures of Egypt_ _  
_ _Leaving out what it lacked_ _  
_ _The future seems so hard_ _  
_ _And I want to go back”_

_from “Pictures of Egypt” by Sarah Groves_

 

I hadn't seen her in years, not since the night of the accident. Maybe it was better that way. God knows, I blame myself probably almost as much as she does. The constant reminder of what I had done would have been too much to bear. Still, I recognize her instantly. Even fifteen years later and from across the bookstore, I can spot Katniss Everdeen in a crowd. There was always just something about the way she moved that set her apart from the rest of the world. Her eyes meet mine, and I have a hard time not turning away. It's like I am taken back to all of those years ago.

 

It was November, and I had come home from college to spend Thanksgiving with my family. I had driven home in the pouring rain late the night before on next to no sleep. My fraternity brothers had joined forces with one of the sororities and planned an event to raise money for families in need. As much as I'd wanted to skip it, I hadn't been able to. Instead, I packed up my stuff and headed out just before midnight. Though I was only three hours away at Pitt, it felt much farther. I didn't take well to life in the city, away from everything and everyone I loved. I missed my family. I missed my hometown. Mostly, I missed Katniss.

 

We had been best friends for years. Her family lived just down the road from mine, and I had been charmed by the little tomboy since I was fourteen years old. Though she was three years younger than me and a girl to boot, I soon found out that she was just as crazy about the outdoors as I was. We climbed trees, hunted, fished, and rambled through the wilderness together. I don't think I could have asked for a better friend. But then my feelings started to change when I came home after my first year of college. Katniss had really started to change. Though she was far from a girlie-girl, her looks suddenly seemed way more feminine. I noticed the addition of two rounded breasts and the sudden fullness of her hips. The day she stripped down to her underwear to jump into the lake, I swear I could have blinded myself with my erection. I felt like a dirty old man staring at her.

 

The gap between nineteen and sixteen was just too much, so I backed off. I forced myself to turn my lust towards more “suitable” targets. I became something of a self-proclaimed man-whore, taking all that the college girls had to offer. But in the back of my mind and the corner of my heart, there was always Katniss. The other girls just seemed like filler. I could leave any of them on a dime and not care one bit. I was always the quickest to pack my shit and go when breaks came, because I had something better to go home to. Katniss had turned eighteen that year and I was finally ready to make my move.

 

After very little sleep, I forced myself to wake up early and head out to Sae's Cafe on Main Street. It was kind of a dive, but it had the best food in town. In a way, it was like that old show Cheers; everybody knew everyone else's name, and everybody had their own place at the counter. I wasn't there for the camaraderie, though. It also happened to be where Katniss worked part-time. I pulled my beat-to-hell-and-back truck into the parking lot, and chewed on a couple of extra mints. Though I had primped like a chick that morning, I wanted to be extra sure I didn't have anything nasty smelling going on. That was the day I was going to ask Katniss to come home with me for Thanksgiving... as my girlfriend.

 

I strolled through the door to Sae's, trying to look as cool as humanly possible without looking like a douche—a fine line, I knew. Several people I knew said hello, but I barely paid any attention. I was looking at the object of my affection. Katniss was seated on the edge of a booth beside Peeta Fucking Mellark. My chest tightened at the scene.

 

Peeta was that one guy that the rules said you just couldn't hate. He was too God-damned perfect. He was the kind of guy who volunteers at the food bank and rescues kittens in his free time. I couldn't remember him ever saying anything rude to anyone. Though he was a couple of years behind me in school, I remembered how the teachers all held him up as the prime example of how a teenage boy should act. The girls all loved him because he was the sensitive artist-type. And then there was the real reason you weren't supposed to hate him: he'd had cancer. Not only had he had cancer, but he'd lost his leg to it. How the Hell could you hate the one-legged cancer survivor who was just about perfect? Easy - I saw how he looked at Katniss. That was enough to make me want to knock his teeth down his throat.

 

Before I could move to break up the action, Katniss spotted me. She all but ran up to me, and gave me a fierce hug. “Gale, you jerk! You didn't let me know you'd made it home,” she chided as she punched me in the arm for good measure.

 

“It was really late, Catnip. I doubt your Mom would have been too happy if I woke her up at three in the morning.” I smiled ruefully as I rubbed the sore spot.

 

“True,” she agreed, pushing a stray hair from her forehead. “But you haven't even called once over the last two weeks. I thought you had forgotten us.”

 

“Not at all,” I said, guiltily. Though I hadn't forgotten about Katniss or my family, I couldn't deny that I hadn't exactly been too available. College was like a different world. In a way, it was like I was even a different person at school, and I didn't know how to explain that to anyone at home.

 

“Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Can you drop by after the breakfast rush is over?” she asked as a bell chimed from the kitchen.

 

I had been hoping that she would have cozied up to me a booth as she had with Mellark, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. Pointing to an open booth, I asked, “Would you mind grabbing me a menu? I’m actually really hungry, and I don't mind hanging out.”

 

I sat with my back to the wall and surveyed my surroundings. I knew most everyone that came in and out of Sae's. In a town so small, it was hard to walk down the street without running into at least half a dozen people who knew you. Sometimes, it felt like a burden. They all filtered through the doors giving me hearty “hello's,” but I had a feeling that what was said when I wasn't around was less than friendly. The general consensus in town was that I was wasted potential. I had led the school football team to the semi-finals, but couldn't get them through that last little push. On top of that, most of the college scouts for the big time teams overlooked me like I was nothing. I didn't even fight for it. When the time came, I chose not to even consider one of the smaller schools that wanted me. So what was I? Just another local could-have-been. The idea was less than appealing, and it made me want to tell them all to fuck off. I hunched over my steak and eggs, trying to pretend they weren't there. I reminded myself why I was even at Sae's.

 

“Gale Hawthorne, the prodigal son returns.”

 

My head snapped up, and I instantly spotted Darius grinning down at me. Once, I had considered him my rival. We were almost like gods back in high school. As arrogant as it seemed, I knew—even back then—that I was the biggest thing in our school. In a graduating class of seventy-five, there wasn't much other competition for top dog. Darius was a year ahead of me, and pretty much had a harem following him around half of the time. He was good looking with a mischievous smile and red hair that the girls loved. We weren't really enemies, but I never really wanted to get to know him too well. Though I would never have admitted it then, I was jealous.

 

“At least I got out of this place for a while,” I quipped dryly.

 

He laughed and seated himself across from me without being invited. “Here to try and steal your girl back from Peeta Mellark?”

 

“She was never my girl, and it's not like she's actually dating him.”

 

“Man, are you behind on times!” he said with a whistle. “He's been here making kissy faces at her almost every Saturday, and rumor has it they've been seen at the movie theater almost every Friday.”

 

“What are you? A twelve year-old girl?” I grumbled. I stabbed a bite of steak, pretending it was Darius' face.

 

He sighed. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you missed your shot. Lavinia says...”

 

“Wait, wait. Lavinia? Jesus freak, Lavinia?” I demanded. The image of the gawky, carrot-topped girl with a million and one t-shirts with Christian slogans and fish outlines on them came to mind, and I just couldn't see Darius talking to her.

 

He scowled. “Don't call her that. Things have changed since you've been gone, Hawthorne.”

 

“I guess they have,” I agreed. “I didn't know there was something going on between you two.”

 

“Listen, I have to get going. It's good to see you in town.” He rose to his feet, and I suddenly felt like an asshole.

 

“I didn't mean it like that. And high school's over, am I right?” I said uneasily. “I am going to get a bonfire going tonight out at the old Hob. You know, for old time's sake. You should bring her.”

 

“Maybe,” he said with a noncommittal shrug as he headed for the door. “See you around.”

 

“Yeah. See you around,” I echoed flatly.

 

Katniss didn't make her way over to see me until almost an hour later. The crowd around us had thinned, and at some point, Peeta had left. She slid into the booth. “Sorry it took me so long,” she said, tossing her apron down onto the table.

 

“No problem,” I lied. I didn't want to admit how annoyed I was at the moment.

 

“So what's new and exciting with you?” she asked. “It feels like I never get to talk to you.”

 

“Oh, you know, just the usual. Stuff with classes and the frat guys.”

 

Katniss rolled her eyes. “You mean the young alcoholics club?”

 

“It's not like that,” I complained. “We do other stuff together besides drink.”

 

“Right,” she drawled.

 

“What about you and Mellark?” I spat. “You two look real sweet together.”

 

“Peeta is a good friend.” Katniss began tying the left over straw paper into knots. “I don't see why you care.”

 

“I care. You know that I do.”

 

She looked at me expectantly like she was waiting for my confession to continue. Suddenly, all of the words that I had rehearsed in the mirror that morning went away. In the theater in my mind, it all went so easy, but in reality, I couldn't get the words out. It was like seeing her with Mellark had taken the wind right out of my sails. I had never imagined there would be someone else taking what should have been by rights my place. After that illusion had burst, I just couldn't figure out what I wanted to say.

 

“I heard you tell Darius that you were throwing a party,” she said, moving the conversation along.

 

“Yeah,” I confirmed. Just then, the party seemed like a great way to get a little closer to my goal. “I missed everyone and want to catch up with my friends. You'll come, won't you?”

 

“I can't. Mom is working the overnight, and I don't want to leave Prim all by herself,” she explained.

 

“Bring her. She's sixteen, not six. Besides, it's not like it's going to get wild.”

 

Still looking skeptical, she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But just for a bit.”

 

I spent that afternoon on the phone trying to convince all of our old friends to spend the evening half-freezing to death by a fire rather than going to the bar or staying in. Most of my friends scoffed at the idea of hanging out at the grown over quarry known commonly as the Hob. It was a high school hangout that usually hosted keg parties and things like that. The almost basin-like terrain was perfect to camouflage most get-togethers, and it was usually a safer bet than someone's house. That being said, it wasn't the kind of place where most of the over-twenty-one crowd would be caught dead. If I had any other choice of venue, I would have gone for it, but this was my chance to get close to Katniss again. I really needed this to feel just like old times.

 

Once I had a guest list mostly confirmed, I decided to stop and pick up a few essentials. I grabbed things for mountain pies and s'mores. Mostly, though, I picked up beer and liquor. I wasn't planning on getting a bunch of high school kids drunk, but I reasoned that there were enough of us of age that it wasn't such a bad idea. And I didn't buy much—three cases of beer and a few handles of cheap rum.

 

I made it to the Hob first and started piling up enough wood and kindling to get good fires going in the old burn barrels. Digging a hatchet out of my truck bed, I began cutting up some of the bigger pieces. I hacked away at way more than we actually would need in the vain attempt to clear my head. Even alone, my nerves were getting to me. The physical exertion didn't seem to help much either. I needed something more.

 

I poured some whiskey into a red Solo cup and downed it in one go, letting the warm feeling spread through me. For the most part, I considered myself a social drinker. Sure, I spent two and sometimes three nights a week at the bar and drank at the very least a beer or two with my brothers at the house most other nights, but that was just because it was simply what we did. It was almost like bonding, but way less touchy-feely.

 

It was just after dusk when the first few people started to arrive. To my surprise, I saw Darius getting out of his car just behind some of my former teammates. I still felt bad about how I had left things at Sae's, so I poured two whiskeys and headed his way.

 

“Glad you came,” I said sincerely. “I kind of feel like an asshole for earlier.”

 

He grinned. “You're always an asshole. It's about time you realized it.”

 

“Fine, I earned that one, but let's forget about it. Drink to it?” I held out the cup.

 

“No, thanks. I can't drink like I used to,” he said wistfully.

 

“Little woman says no?” I asked.

 

Darius shook his head. “Drinking isn't banned by the Bible.”

 

I shrugged and poured his portion into my own cup. I didn't even pause to think about it. I just assumed that Lavinia had put an end to his wild ways, despite his denial. Years ago, Darius was probably the fake I.D. king of central Pennsylvania. He managed to slip in and out of more bars and state stores than the rest of us combined. I suppose in hindsight, I should have noticed that something was different about him then. Though the lens of my memory, I can now see the slight puffiness to his features and the almost yellowish tint to his complexion. It's just one of a hundred things I should have realized.

 

A couple of hours later, the party was in full swing. There were maybe close to thirty of us huddled around the fires—most wearing sweatshirts bearing their school colors, but still more than a few in letter jackets. I supposed I didn't notice how much everyone was drinking, or that many of the younger attendees were already pretty drunk. I was focused on one thing - Katniss still wasn't there. Annoyed, I found myself drinking more and more.

 

By the time Katniss showed up, I was more than a little drunk. I watched with rage mounting in my gut as I saw her get out of Peeta's car, followed by Prim. I couldn't believe that she would bring him to my party, but then it got worse. She let him put his arm around her.

 

“Finally decided to show up,” I said roughly as she approached.

 

She frowned. “I didn't even want to come tonight. Besides, I thought you said it was okay to bring Prim?” She gestured toward the crowd, which had now swelled to about fifty.

 

“It's not that bad,” I argued.

 

Katniss was about to say something, but Prim put a hand on her arm. “It's going to be fine. Besides, I don't think everyone is drinking. Look, Darius is over there with some of the guys from my school.”

 

I smiled at the younger Everdeen. Prim was pretty much like another younger sister to me. To me, she would always be sweet, little Prim, but even I could see how she'd grown.

 

“I missed you, Prim,” I said, opening my arms to give her a sloppy hug.

 

“I missed you, too. We should catch up when you're sober,” she said with a giggle. “I'm going to go talk to Darius.”  
  


“I'll go with you,” Peeta volunteered.

 

“Watch your step,” I murmured under my breath. “Hate to see a cripple fall.”

 

Peeta glared at me, but said nothing.

 

As the pair headed off, Katniss' eyes zeroed in on mine.

 

“Just what the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

 

I should have taken that as a red flag, but I didn't. It made me angry that she was choosing him over me. “Me? What about you?”

 

“I don't even know you anymore,” she sighed.

 

“I'm not the one fucking Mellark,” I spat.

 

“No, you're the one who became a brain-washed frat house pet.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and I knew that I was in for it. “What the hell happened to you? We used to be friends, but you barely call and when you do, it’s like I’m talking to someone else. When you do come home, you expect me to just be waiting for you, like I don't have a life of my own unless it involves you. Where did the Gale I used to know go?”

 

I clenched my jaw and looked away. Even in my drunken state, I realized that she was right. I had expected her to be waiting for me with open arms. I opened my mouth to reply, but was interrupted.

 

“Hey, Hawthorne!” I spotted a former football teammate jogging up to me holding up an empty beer case. “Dude, we're out of beer already.”

 

“So either quit drinking or send someone on a beer run,” I growled, rolling my eyes.

 

Katniss snorted. “I can see where this party is headed. I should go home.”

 

“Please, don't,” I begged, surprising both of us. “Just take a walk with me. I've wanted to talk to you.”

 

She looked over to where Prim was stranding. The younger girl was laughing and talking to Darius and a few others—who all seemed sober. For the moment, it looked like Prim was in good hands. Before we started down the path, Prim waved us over.

 

“I'm a little tired,” she said. “Darius actually offered to drive me home. Would you mind, Katniss?”  
  


Katniss eyed Darius closely. “You’re okay with giving her a lift?”

 

“I offered,” he answered with a shrug. “Besides, you already know that I haven't been drinking.”

 

“Fine,” Katniss agreed after a moment. She pulled Prim into a quick hug. “I won't be too far behind you.”

 

I gave Prim a quick hug and said good night. Though I regret it now, I was glad that she was going. It meant one less distraction for Katniss. Whenever Prim was around, Katniss tended to hover. That night, I wanted to be the only thing on her mind.

 

We walked down to the edge of the woods. As kids, we had come down here on many of our jaunts. Despite a thousand warnings that old quarry was dangerous, the lure of the place was just too much. There was too much to explore. We followed the path to where a giant stone slab rested. Katniss took a seat, and watched me silently.

 

“I'm sorry,” I said softly as I sat beside her. “I have been a real dick about you and Mellark.”

 

“You have,” she agreed.

 

“I miss being here when I am at school. I really do. Sometimes, it's just hard to come back. You're right, I did want you to just be waiting for me,” I admitted. “You can't tell me that you've never thought about what it would be like—you know, you and me.”

 

“I have thought about it,” she confirmed cryptically.

 

“And?”  
  


“And I'm not sure. I love you like a brother, Gale, but I don't know that I want more than that,” she replied.

 

I felt like I had been punched in the gut. “So, what about Mellark?”

 

“I don't know about that, either. Maybe, but I'm just not sure.” She began pulling at the frayed edge of her old sweatshirt sleeve. “You act like this should all be so easy.”

 

“It can be that easy,” I assured her.

 

Moving closer to her, I cupped her face in my hand and pulled her lips to mine. Though she didn't push me away, she didn't exactly welcome me either. She stayed still in my arms, even as I tried to kiss her in the way that other girls seemed to melt into. I gave up.

 

“It's not that easy,” she said softly.

 

“I guess not. So what now?” I put space between us.

 

“Can't we just be friends? Can't we try to stay closer when you go back to school?”

 

I picked up a stone from the ground and threw it as hard as I could. If there had been a wall around, I probably would have punched it. What guy wants to hear the “Let's be friends” speech? I sighed and raked a hand through my hair. “Friends. All right, I guess I can handle that,” I lied.

 

We stayed down by the rock for quite a while. From the basin below, I could hear the party still going full swing, but I really didn't give a damn. I didn't care that I could go home with just about any girl down there if I wanted to. The one person I wanted didn't want me, and the party couldn't distract me from that. I stared at the halo-like glow of the fires and wished I had never thrown it.

 

“It looks like everyone is having a good time,” she said, following my gaze.

 

“The party is lame, but let's head back up anyway.”

 

A strained silence stretched out between us as we walked. I didn't really have anything to say to her beyond what I already had. I put what I was feeling out there, and she turned me down. What more was there? By the time we made it back, I couldn't bear the thought of staying. Without a word, I pulled my truck keys from my pocket.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Katniss asked, as she gripped my arm.

 

“Home. I'm done with this.”

 

“There is no way that I am letting you drive.”

 

She pried the keys from my fingers without too much resistance. I knew I was still too drunk to drive. Peeta agreed to follow behind us in his car, and Katniss slipped behind the wheel of my truck as I reluctantly slid into the passenger seat. I flipped on the radio to avoid any conversation, which she didn't seem to mind.

 

It's funny, the things you remember and the things you don't. I remember the song “November Rain” by Guns N' Roses playing in the background, and how I leaned my head on the window as she drove. What I don't remember is when exactly we first saw the lights and heard the sirens. I can't pinpoint that moment, no matter how hard I try. It was like one minute we were driving along in silence, and then everything sped up into a ball of color and sound. I think the next coherent thing I can still picture are the cop cars and ambulance lining the road almost blocking us from seeing the smashed up pieces of metal that used to be cars.

 

One of them was Darius'.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks goes to Chelzie for all her hard work and support through this. This story is particularly hard for me to write.

Pictures of Egypt – Part 2

  
_“_ _With who we are today_  
 _could never make amends for what we've done_  
 _tainted blood_  
 _His eyes are full of love_  
 _forgive them_ _  
__release them._ _“_

_From “In The Water” by Anadel_

 

I'll spare you the details — no, that's a lie. I'll spare myself. To this day, I can't say too much about that night. The pain just cuts too deep. I still dream about what happened that night. My mind plays tricks on me, and I can see it all so clearly. Darius and Prim's faces illuminated by the oncoming headlights. Sometimes, I even hear their screams echoing over the shattering glass and twisting metal. But I know none of that is “real.” I didn't see it happen... only what came after. Katniss jumping out of my truck, struggling to get down to where they were covering Prim's lifeless body with a sheet. The sound of the helicopter as it landed to whisk Darius away. The EMT's loading the young man who had hit them into the back of the ambulance. All around me there was nothing but pain, chaos, and death.

The irony of it all has never managed to escape me. Darius and Prim hadn't had so much as a drop of liquor, but that hadn't saved them. They were struck by an old football teammate of mine on his way to the party. He had already been cut off by the bartender at the local dive and decided that the party sounded like a good way to finish the evening off. In my gut, I realized even from the start that it was all my fault for throwing the party and telling Katniss to bring Prim. I hadn't been driving, but I had done it.

Prim was killed on impact. In a way, it is a mercy to know that she probably never even felt a thing. She didn't have to suffer the way that Darius did. My chest still tightens up every time I think of the long list of injuries that he had. Even worse, I hadn't known until afterward that Darius had been sick. He'd been going through dialysis for kidney failure for nearly a year before the accident, and I hadn't had a clue. He was taken by helicopter to Pittsburgh's UPMC for treatment and put on life support. Lavinia and his parents rallied by his side day and night. I suppose even from the start, we all knew he didn't have a chance.

I left town on the same morning they buried Prim, because running like the coward that I was seemed like the only option. I didn't have it in me to stand by her grave knowing that I was largely responsible for putting her there, so I packed up my things and left before my family even made it home from the service. I remember watching the town of Panem fading in my rearview and knew in my gut that I'd never come back again. I’ve always marveled at the cosmic unfairness of the fact that I never paid for what I did. The party at the Hob had ended, the teens scattering before the cops ever got there, so I wasn't charged for any of that. To top it all off, I hadn't supplied any alcohol to the guys who caused the accident. As far as the law was concerned, there wasn’t anything I could be charged with that would hold up in court. In the eyes of everyone else in town and my own heart, though, I was guilty as sin and no better than a cold-blooded murderer. Maybe the law couldn't punish me for what I had done, but I was punishing myself. I had murdered two people and even I knew that exile wasn't nearly enough to pay for what I had done.

The frat house was empty when I came “home.” A wave of stale beer scented air hit me as I opened the door, and I didn't even bother to unpack before I headed to the communal liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey. It was one of the last sober memories I have of that place. I started drinking that day and didn't stop until they kicked me out of the frat three months later. In the time between, I did some really awful shit the guys I had the nerve to call my brothers. I made a drunken pass at one of my best friends’ girlfriends and then called her a cunt for turning me down. I backed another guy's car into a retaining wall thinking I was all right enough to drive to the store for more booze. Hell, I started so many fights that I can't even remember them all. Even though I never told them what I had done, I wanted them to hate me for it. They needed to hate me as much as I hated myself. I pushed and pulled until none of them gave a shit about me anymore. It wasn't a surprise when they asked for my keys, but it was a surprise when they told me to come back after I got the help I needed.

I didn't want help.

I stopped going to classes and got an apartment that made a roach motel look like a mansion and a job on the cook line at a chain restaurant. No one cared if I showed up to work drunk or if I puked on the bathroom floor instead of the toilet bowl. My days and nights bled one in to the other without much effort on my part. Each day it seemed like there was less to care about. I didn't have friends anymore, and I doubted my family knew anything about where I was or what I was doing. Somewhere along the line my mom stopped leaving messages on my phone. Her number appeared a little less under my missed calls as time passed without me calling her back.

Things could have stayed like this for the rest of my life. I've known “functioning” drunks like that. They manage to subsist on the very minimum of giving a damn for years without falling hard. I couldn't do it. It took a year, but I finally missed enough shifts at my job that I got fired. After the job went the apartment. Then the prepaid cellphone I had ran out of minutes. Any money I had didn't go to the basic things like food or shelter, not even for the gas to keep the truck I was living in running. I spent the final twenty dollars I had from my last paycheck on a couple of the cheapest bottles I could find. I had finally reached absolute rock bottom, and I didn't have the will to push myself back up. If I'd had a gun, I probably would have ended it. Instead, I shambled down Carson Street that night, blending in with the drunken college kids as they wove in and out of bars. And then I something hit me... literally.

I woke up in a hospital bed feeling like I had hit by a truck which it turns out wasn't far from the truth. Staring up at the plain white ceilings, I tried to piece together how I had gotten there but came up blank. My mouth felt like I had been chewing on sandpaper and I sat up expecting to see a nurse around. Instead, I was greeted by the sight of a straggly looking man sitting in the chair beside me. He looked like he wasn't far from a hospital bed of his own, but there was something about the way his gray eyes locked on me that was familiar.

“Can I have some water?” I managed to croak. He poured me a cup from a little plastic pitcher on the bedside table and handed it to me without any comment. Nothing had ever tasted as good as that water did. I gulped down the cup and held it out for more.

“You're gonna puke up your guts if you drink too much,” he said gruffly, but still poured.

“Why should you give a fuck?” I demanded.

“Do you know who I am, boy?” he asked sharply.

I shook my head. “Someone sent by the hospital to sober me up?”

“Nah,” he said with a dark chuckle. “No one here really cares that much. You're just some homeless bum that walked in front of a cab to them. They'll send a social worker down with a clean set of clothes and a list of shelters for you and send you on your way.”

My head pounded and I was too sore to play games. “So then just tell me who the fuck you are so you can get the hell out of here.”

“I'm your Uncle Haymitch,” he grumbled. “I woulda thought the family resemblance would have given me away.”

I remembered him then. He was my dad's half-brother. The last time I'd seen him was my fifth birthday party. He'd shown up so stinking drunk that he'd picked up a Barbie doll as a present because he actually thought I was a girl. Then to top it off, he'd puked his guts out in the back yard while everyone was singing happy birthday to me. I remembered him as a pathetic drunk, and just like that I saw the family resemblance he was talking about.

Sighing, I laid my head on the pillow and tried to will him away. “How did you know I was here?”

“The hospital called your Mom, who then called me. She seems to have hope that I can help you dry your ass out,” he added in a voice that told me he didn't share her optimism.

I chuckled. “You? She's not afraid we'll just become drinking buddies?”

“I've been sober for six years and four months,” he stated with something akin to pride in his eyes.

“The four months really make a difference,” I scoffed.

“You're damn fucking right they do, kid. If you're lucky enough maybe you'll have some days and months under your belt too someday, but I don't think you're ready for that yet.” With those words, he picked up his jacket and left the room. I felt numb as I watched him go. He'd been right when he said I wasn't ready.

A few minutes later, the social worker Haymitch had predicted would come did with a file folder in hand and set of dollar store sweats. My mild concussion wasn't reason enough for them to keep me. The bed I was occupying would be go to a person who actually needed it and could pay the bill at the end of their stay. It was just like he said: I was just some bum to these people.

On the way out of the hospital, a tall brunette nurse waved me over to the front desk. “You're Gale, right?” she asked.

I nodded. “Look if this about where to send the bills, I told the lady I really don't have an address right now.”

“Nope, it's not that. Haymitch left something for you,” she riffled through a few papers on her desk before grabbing a large manila envelope.

I stared down at my own name written in chicken scratch on the front. “Thanks.”

“Look,” she drawled with a heavy sigh, “I know Haymitch well enough by now to know that even when he says he's giving up on someone he's not. He may be an asshole, but he's probably the only one who gives a flying crap about what happens to you right now. Don't mess that up.”

“What the hell do you know about?” I grumbled.

“You're not the only one with problems,” she said coldly. “Now, get the fuck out of here.” She stared me down with hard brown eyes that actually sent me taking a step back. I did as she told me too, but before I did I dropped my gaze to her name badge. It read J. Mason, R.N. I made a note right then and there that if our paths ever crossed again, I would not piss her off.

I opened the envelope outside on a park bench, hoping that inside was at least enough cash for something from a dollar menu and a bus ride back to the truck. I got my wish. There was a hundred dollars held together with a paper clip holding a card with his number and address, but once I saw what the rest of what was inside, I didn't care about the money anymore. My dad's face stared out at me from a photo. I'd left all the pictures I had of him back home. People said I looked like him, but I only saw the differences between us. He had been a good man and I was a loser. I forced myself to zero in on his face. He was so young looking—sixteen maybe—with his seventies style bowl cut and ratty KISS t-shirt. It took me a minute to notice that he wasn't the only one in the picture. To his left sat my mother with her jean jacket on and Farrah Fawcett hair, and to his right sat a person that I almost didn't recognize. Haymitch had at least a week’s worth of stubble on his jaw and his hair pulled back into a ponytail. Unlike my Mom and Dad, he wasn't smiling. There was a dead look in his eyes, and he clutched a beer bottle in his hand. This was the picture of the beginning of his fall, I could see that much. I think it was the look I must have had in my eyes when I left Panem. Not liking what I saw, I flipped to the next picture.

I'd never seen the woman in the next picture before. A beautiful blonde with bright blue eyes and a million megawatt smile gazed at whoever was behind the camera in the way that every man hopes to be looked at some day. I studied her features and campy blue and yellow waitress uniform, trying to figure out why this photograph mattered. I squinted until I could make out “Maysilee” on her name tag. I kind of wonder if the picture got slipped into the stack, and flipped to the next. All the rest seemed to be of happier times. My Dad and Haymitch are in most of them together, somehow looking almost like twins despite their six year age gap. I'd never actually thought that they'd ever been close, and I guess this was Haymitch's way of showing me what he'd left behind.

Suddenly, I knew what to do with the money. I bought a prepaid phone card from the gas station and filled a gas can before going back to my truck. I tilted the driver's seat as far back as it would go and dialed a number that I hadn't called in months.

“Hello, this is Hawthorne residence,” a voice sounding very much like my own answered. Rory had obviously hit a spurt since I had talked to him last, and I had to force myself not to hang up.

“Hey, little man,” I managed to grind out.

The line went quiet for a minute and I almost thought he hung up on me. “Oh, it's just you,” he said finally. “I was hoping you wouldn't call.”

“Look, Rory....”

“Save it,” he cut me off. “Mom wants to talk to you.”

I let out a sigh of relief that she was home and gripped the phone a little tighter. “Mom?”

“Oh, thank God,” she sobbed through the line, making my own eyes sting. “I've been so worried. And when the hospital called... I kept praying I wouldn't get a call.”

I was sixteen when she got the call that my Dad had died. I could still see her in my mind’s eye half-sitting, half-laying on the kitchen floor crying with the phone clutched in her hand like if she squeezed hard enough she could stop the news. The kids were in the other room watching a movie, and I was the only one who saw her break down. And years later there I was, being the one to cause her more pain. Part of me wished right then that the cab had killed me.

“I'm all right, Mom,” I whispered.

“No, Gale. You're not _all right_. You haven't been for a very long time, and I don't know how to help you. My God, I don't think I can,” she cried, sounding even worse than before. I'd never heard her sound so hopeless before. Not even when Dad died.

“I want to come back. I need to figure this out,” I said with as much fake optimism as I could cram into my voice. “I can leave now and be home by tonight.”

“Don't come home.”

“What?” My heart sank in my chest, and I prayed that I hadn't heard that right. I must have missed part of it. _Don't come home without picking up a gallon of milk. Don't come home and forget your laundry._ I'd heard that kind of thing before. There absolutely had to be more to this. My Mom would never tell me not to come home.

“Lord Jesus, help me. Don't come home, Gale,” she told me between ragged breaths.

“But, Mom, what else can I do?” I begged. The tears that had threatened to fall for the last few minute streamed unchecked down my face. “I don't have any place to go.”

“Your Uncle Haymitch says you can stay with him if you get help,” she answered with an audible gulp. “He can help you in ways that I can't right now. Could you give it a chance?”

Anger. Resentment. Bitterness. Self-hatred. Emotions raged through me so hard that I thought I was going to throw up whatever remaining hospital oatmeal still sat in my gut. I hung up the phone without answering and let it drop to the dirty floor mat at my feet. My fists pounded into the steering wheel until they bled. I swore and yelled until my throat was raw. I couldn't go home. My own mother didn't even want the monster that I had become. What else was there for me to do?

When I was done, I wiped my face on the sleeve of my sweatshirt and stared into the rearview mirror at my own reflection. My face had changed so much since that night at the Hob that I could barely believe it was me. I looked exactly like what Haymitch had called me back at the hospital: a bum. I was a stinking drunk lowlife with dirty hair and a patchy beard that didn't do much to cover my gaunt, haggard face. But what really hit me was my eyes. Just like his had been, mine were dead.

I had a choice to make: I could get help or I could die.

 

 


End file.
